


Everyone's a stranger in the beginning!

by annetheseamaiden



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M, Strangers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annetheseamaiden/pseuds/annetheseamaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard York has a routine. He wakes up, has his breakfast and runs to the train station. He likes his routine. One day, he discovers that something is off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

He felt as if he was going insane. The blonde girl was not there. She was not there! 

She was late.

 A few minutes more and he wouldn’t see her that morning. He looked back to the stairs, to see if maybe she was there, but she wasn’t. 

He shook his head. 

She always got there on time. She was always there before he arrived. She was always there. She always sat in front of him. She never saw him, but he clearly saw her. He imagined her skin would be soft, and her hair would smell like roses. He had never heard her say a word, but he could swear that he had heard her many times in his head. 

He really did not know why he bothered. He had never had a conversation with her. The only time he had talked to her was when he said sorry to her after accidentally pushing her.

He remembered that day that he smiled at her, and saw the colour of her eyes. They were blue. He acted like a fool. He smiled at her, but she must have been in a hurry because she brushed him off, and ran as she texted.

He looked at his phone, and saw the hour.

7:15 am

She was officially late, and so was the train.

_As long as the train isn’t here, she’ll be on time,_ Richard thought with a sigh.

His words were like a curse. When he sighed, he heard the train coming.

Standing up, he looked back to see if she was there. She wasn’t. Everyone was there. The Mother with the kids. The old man. The actor. The struggling dancer. The writer. Him. 

No sign of her. He had to go on with his day. When the train, came, he had no other option than to hop in. If he was late for another class, his Mother would kill him. He may be a man of 20 years, but his Mother paid part of his tuition to help him. If he was late, somehow she knew. So he hoped in, and sat in his usual chair. He sat behind her empty chair. It was odd to not see her. No blond hair to admire. 

He was taking art classes for his uni courses. He had taken to sketch her braids, sometimes her face to while they waited for the train. He wondered if she was a hairstylist. She always had her hair in the right places. There was a day when it was messy, but it was windy that day, and it was raining. Everyone had messy, wet hair.

He looked down and sighed. She missed the train that day, and the next day, and the next day.

_Maybe she moved,_ he thought on the third day.

_Could she be dead?_ That was on the fourth day.

He shook his head on the fourth day and sighed.

He looked to the front and grunted.

“Where are you?” He whispered to himself. She was a pretty girl. He wanted to be a forensic artist, so before he graduated, he wanted to draw something pretty. At least, the hair of a pretty girl. 

He opened his sketch book with a sigh. He would draw something. What he didn’t know. Instead, he began to add some shades to his previous sketches. 

On the fifth day, she had not arrived yet. The train had arrived, and she was not there. He was starting to give up. He should have manned up and said _Good Morning_ to her, but he didn’t.

He probably would never see her again. 

Another bird that had flown away.

As he thought, he heard someone clearing their throat.

“Is that me?” 

He looked back and saw the girl.

“Why have you been sketching me?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. The mouse had stolen his tongue.

The girl moved from the chair behind him and sat next to him as she took his sketch notebook from his hands.

“No!” He said, “Give me that!”

“If it has my face it is mine.” She said as she looked through the pages. There were three of her face, many of her hair. There was a sketch of the mother and kids, and two of the old man.

“Why do you sketch me? What do you get from it? Are you selling them?”

“No! I wouldn’t.”

“Why do you do it?”

“I like to sketch draw pretty things.” He simply said, “I mean it with respect. I don’t want to sound creepy. I mean, I haven’t– my name is Richard. Can I put a name on them?” He said as he took his notebook from her hands.

“The Mother is named Elizabeth. Her sons are Thomas and Richard.” 

He quickly opened the his pad and wrote the names, “Yours?” He asked.

“Bring me coffee tomorrow. Three hazelnut pumps and two sugars. Maybe I’ll tell you.” She finished with a smile as the train stopped., “Go on, Richard.”

“What?” He asked.

“This is your stop. I have seen you for five months since I moved to this city. This is your stop. Go on!”

“But I don’t know your name.” He pointed out as he stood up.

“Bring me coffee tomorrow and scones.”

“What if I put something on your drink? I am a stranger.” Richard said as he grabbed his backpack.

“Everyone is a stranger in the beginning!” The girl said placing her legs in the other chair, "Go on, you'll be late!"

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

He smiled when he woke up the next day. He had talked to the girl. Her voice was as sweet as he had imagined. She had liked his sketches of her. Did she liked _him_ as well?

He woke up from his day dream as his brother pushed him out of the fridge.

“Taking to much time, bro!” His brother said before he grabbed the ham, “Are you okay?”

He was still day dreaming. His routine was certainly going to change. Instead of staring, he would talk. Try, at least. He was shy. His brothers joked that he had a touch of Aspergers. He was just shy. He enjoyed talking to people, but when it came to girls was another thing. He just didn’t know how to talk to them. He liked them. If he was like his older brother, he would have probably be married, but he was too shy to talk to them. So instead of talking, he looked at them and drew them.

A clap brought him back from his day dream. It was his brother, telling him that he would be late.

“You are not even dressed.”

Richard looked down at himself and saw that he was only in his boxers, socks, and T-shirt.

“Damn it!” He sighed, “I have to get her coffee and scones!”

“Her?” His brother asked, “Who is her?”

Richard left his brother alone. He did not have the time to answer his brother’s silly questions.

He made his way to his room, and got dressed. He was going to pick his usual shirt, the grey one, but he figured out that he should change it. He picked his blue shirt that he wore whenever he had an exam. It was his lucky shirt. Jean and boots came on, and he made his way out of the house and stopped in the coffee shop. He ordered to coffees with three hazelnut pumps, and scones. After paying, he stopped in the cutlery counter and took a handful of brown sugar and the little wood coffee thing. 

It was a cloudy day, so whenever he took a step, he couldn’t wait to get to the station and sit. He really needed his caffeine. He liked his coffee black and with a sugar spoon, but he decided to try it her way. But he waited, he waited for her.

When he saw her, as usual she had her hair nicely done. This time she had her hair back and was wearing a headband. She smiled at him, and he saw that she had a coffee cup in her hands.

“But you said—” Richard started.

“Routine!” She said when she sat besides him, “I am sorry!” She smiled, “My sister prepared coffee, but it taste like crap. Where is this coffee from?” 

Richard thought that she should tell him her name. Instead, she went on and on and on talking about her sister thinking that she is a Starbuck’s employee. Richard did not talked, but she talked. She probably had more words to say compared to him. He now knew that her sister’s name was Isabel, and that she had a dog named Lilac. She went on, and on, saying that she really wanted his drawings of her because she had never been anyone’s muse.

Richard smiled at that. She was not his muse, but he was his muse on the train station. He had many muses, but she was not all of them. 

“I want them.”

“I can’t.” Richard said, “They are part of my portfolio. Can I know your name?”

“I dare you to guess my name.” Anne smiled quickly changing the subject. Richard could swear that she may have some attention disorder. She jumped from Point A, to Point C, and then she went back to Point A, and jumped to Point M.

“Your name?” He asked her. She had not told him her name.

He was really observant. He had noticed the ‘A’ charm on her necklace.

“Starts with ‘A’.” He sniggered.

“Oh my God! How do you know?” She asked him with a lot of enthusiasm.

“I just guessed.” He smiled, “Is your name Amanda? Do you go by Amy?”

“No.”

“Adriana?”

“Nope!”

“Adelaide? Addy”

“Cold!”

“Alice?”

“Nope.”

“Ava? Audrey?”

“Nope, and no.”

“Anna? Ashley? Come on, tell me your name.”

“Warm!”

“Ashley?” He asked as she took a zip of her coffee.

“This has no sugar!”

“Here.” He said giving the little packages, “Ashley. It is nice to know you name. Now I can put a name to my sketches.”

“My name is not Ashley.”

“You said that I was warm.”

“Yes, and yet you were not hot— I mean you are good looking, but you are not hot near my name. You were really close. Just a letter vowel wrong.”

It took him a moment to smile, another second to close his eyes, and another five-seconds to get his tongue untangled.

“You think I am hot?” He asked her with a cheeky smile. He saw her bit her lip, and then look down. She licked her lips as she drummed her fingers on her knee. He was cute, and she thought that his was cute.

“I said that you were not hot. You are warm, but not hot.”

“No. I mean,you said that I was good looking.” He smiled.

His ego felt as if it was growing. He felt like his brother felt. Having girls think you were hot was one of the best things he could feel. _I’m attractive_ , he thought. 

“I said you were. Isn’t this is your stop.” Anne said.

“What?”

“This is your stop.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes. 54.” Anne said as she pointed to the number.

He looked up and saw that she was right. It was 54. He looked at her and sighed, “Did you really think I am hot?”

“I never said that. I said that you were good looking.”

A dorky and unflattering smile came across his face.

“Cute. You are cute. Now go. I don’t want you to be late.” Anne said turning her lips serious.

“Cute? wait . . . your name!” He said as he stood up.

“Ashley?Is is with another spelling? Is it Anna?”

“You are close.” She smiled, “Not there yet.”

“Annie?”

“French version of the name.” Anne smiled, as he got off the car, “Bye Richard.” 

“French version? Is it Annette?” He said from the concrete station.

“Oh God!” She sighed before taking a deep breath, “It is Anne!” She sounded a little annoyed.

“Oh!” He gasped, “Anne? That’s really ordinary.”

The doors of the car could close in any minute.

“Excuse me?”

Thankfully, for his sake and safety, the doors closed, and in three seconds, she was gone.

“Oh God!” He closed his eyes as he wished he wouldn’t have called her ordinary, “I am so screwed.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea since a long time ago. 
> 
> Tell me what you think!


End file.
